Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [121]
But, though he was not a cowardly man, his rage was tinged with fear. How had Vader done that? He had been three meters away.
Motti swallowed, his mouth dry, his throat sore.
Tarkin said, “This bickering is pointless. Lord Vader will provide us with the location of the Rebel fortress by the time this station is operational. We will then crush the Rebellion with one swift stroke!”
Motti believed that. But he also knew something else now, too. Vader had power, and it was real. Motti had felt it, and, if Tarkin had not intervened, he believed with every fiber of his being that he would be dead.
That was a sobering thought. What did it matter if you commanded a station that could destroy a world if you could be killed yourself by a freak waving a hand in the air?
Something would have to be done about Vader. But very, very carefully done.
57
PRISON BLOCK AA, DETENTION CENTER, DEATH STAR
Uli had just completed his rounds, which included a quick tour of a different prison block every cycle. Most of the prisoners were there for minor infractions, drunk-and-disorderlies and the like. He was in the corridor, heading to his office when he saw none other than Darth Vader coming from the other direction.
With him was a beautiful young woman.
It was such a surreal sight that he was momentarily tempted to question his senses. But it was real enough; he could see the fluorescents’ distorted reflections slide along the black helmet as Vader walked, and could hear the regulated breathing of the man’s respiratory apparatus. The sound of his boots against the floor grating was oddly soft for so large a man.
Vader had one hand clamped on the woman’s upper arm, and even from ten meters away Uli could see by her expression of pain and anger that the grip was hard enough to be hurting her. Whoever she was, she was obviously not with Vader by choice.
The woman wore a white gown, and she looked somehow familiar, although he couldn’t place her. Her dark brown hair was long, but rolled into tight circles against the sides of her head. Even through the discomfort and indignity of her situation, she seemed extraordinarily self-possessed.
The three of them were alone in the prison block corridor. As Uli drew near, Vader stopped. Paying no attention to the doctor, he opened one of the cells and pushed the woman unceremoniously inside. The hatch dropped shut behind her.
Uli had slowed and glanced back over his shoulder to watch as he passed. After incarcerating the woman, Vader turned, ebony cape flaring behind him. He looked back at Uli. Although no part of his face was visible, Uli somehow had no doubt that Vader was looking directly at him.
He set his gaze in front of him once more and continued walking. Just as he exited the block, three black-clad and helmeted technicians passed him. Behind them, floating on a cushion of repulsorlift energy, an interrogator droid followed.
Uli took the lift back to Medical, wondering who the woman was and what her crime had been. The lift doors opened and he started up the corridor, but stopped as C-4ME-O wheeled around the corner.
“Good after-midday, Dr. Divini.”
“Not for everyone, it appears. I just saw Darth Vader, of all people, apparently intending to interrogate a young woman in the prison block. Do you know who she is?”
“Princess Leia Organa, a member of the Imperial Senate, from Alderaan. It is said that she is also a sympathizer with the Rebel Alliance. Apparently she has information the Empire wants, and thus her impending interrogation by Lord Vader.”
Uli winced at the thought. Interrogation technology was imprecise, more brute force than finesse—intentionally so, for the most part. Many prisoners started talking a klick a minute at the first sight of one of those glossy-black ISB globes, bristling with archaic hypodermic syringes and electrodes. And woe to them if they didn